


roll the dice

by queenofthecon



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, RPF, Shameless, me i'm shameless, not hardcore, the first rule of rpf club applies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthecon/pseuds/queenofthecon
Summary: "And you need me to, what, Saffitz? Be your late night post-breakup booty call?"





	roll the dice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaitRambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitRambles/gifts).

> I am shamed. This is shameful. Again, please do not do as I do. Standard RPF club rules still apply - this is not real, and will never be real. Do not spread around.
> 
> Please respect that the F in RPF stands for fiction. None of this is real and no harm is intended to anyone depicted fictionally here. I just had fun pretending, don't hate me or anyone else who uses RPF as escapism from the awful world going on around us. Plus, y'all are cool. Don't be narcs.

Claire doesn’t know what’s driving her to call Brad. It’s stupidly late at night and stifling inside her apartment – claustrophobic and empty at the same time. She thinks that, maybe, it’s the ache on her chest or self-pity swirling, or just missing his face. Or maybe it’s the two glasses of wine she’d had with dinner. That’s more likely.

It’s not her fault, and it’s not wine’s fault either – wine’s never done anything wrong in its entire life and is precious and wonderful. He’s just scarily good, like way too good, at making her constantly feel less shitty about almost anything going wrong; Brad makes it look so easy to see the bright side, put pain into perspective, he’s handy in her snack meltdowns and even handier now she’s found her ex-boyfriend in bed with someone prettier than her. 

So maybe she’s a little tipsy and hurting and alone, it’s not like there’s any other reaction she could have. Singing Springsteen – badly – doesn’t help, but Brad will. He makes her feel like she’s bulletproof, or some kind of mythological creature in a female form. It’s definitely for sure a dumb decision to make, but tipsy-Claire likes being rash and dumb, channelling the inner chaos demon who thrives on wrong choices. She drains her glass of wine and calls him without more than a second’s thought. Brad’s the _best_.

“_Claire?” _he answers as the call connects, voice thick and gravelly and way too attractive to her ears. “_Whasamatter?”_

“Hey,” she smiles into the receiver before realising she has no idea what to say. Or do. Or why she’s calling. “I… just realised how late it is. I’m an idiot, sorry.”

“_Eh, little insensitive about people’s sunrise yoga routines, maybe, but not an idiot._”

Claire snorts. “You don’t do yoga, Brad.” She tries to imagine him having the concentration to do yoga, let alone get up before sunrise to do it in Central Park. If he does yoga, it definitely isn’t working on taming the chaotic energy.

“_Could if I wanted, you don’t know,_” his voice is teasing and bright and already she feels better for him being on the other end, for picking up the phone. “_Why you calling at 11 at night, Half-Sour? Don’t you got some big date night with Mr Douchenozzle number two or whatever his dumb name is?_”

“God no. No dates, now or ever again, I am not rolling those dice,” she reaches across the coffee table and pours out a half glass of wine, her cheeks rosy. “Maybe you can tell me, though. Is there some reason only the biggest assholes in the tri-state area want to go out with me, Brad? I would… I’d really like to know so I can take diving lessons off the Brooklyn Bridge and end my monotonous, miserable existence.”

There’s a pause and she hears shuffling on the phone. She sips her wine, grateful that it’s coming through for her too. “_Claire, what’s going on?”_ he asks, sounding more awake now and actually concerned. “_What’d he do?_”

Claire feels an unexpected sting of sudden tears and sinks into the couch, her feet curling under her. “Turns out, you were right, like always,” she hates the bitterness in her voice. When did she become this person? “I hate it when you’re right. Caught him with another girl. She’s like 23 and blonde and wants to be an _actress._ Barf.”

“_Jesus Christ, I told you a thousand times, he’s a prick, Claire, total, grade A, do-you-dirty and blame it on your Mama prick.”_ Brad says, his anger getting clearer and she kinda digs it. It’s super un-feminist but Brad protects people’s feelings, especially hers, and she loves him for it. “_I’ll fuckin’ kill him if you want, I got ways and means. Don’t mess with Claire Saffitz._”

Claire chuckles despite herself. “That shouldn’t sound as good an offer as it does,” she replies, realising how dumb this conversation is. At least the rest of that last Pinot's gone. “You don’t need to do that, I think we’re kinda both to blame in this, me and him. We didn’t-”

“_No, no, no, nope. Don’t do that, don’t let him fuck your head up. Guy’s a douchebag, King of the Douches. Nobody’s good enough for you, babe, he just showed his true colours and turns out, it’s the colour of bullshit._”

“Every guy I meet’s an asshole. Well, except you. But if I can’t even keep you interested then…”

It’s a rare sound, to hear Brad sigh as if there’s a lifetime of regret he can’t vocalise, but Claire’s not so tipsy she can’t hear it. “_I had a lot of asshole moments, Claire. But that Mark guy was a prick from the beginning, I don’t know why you dated him in the first place, tell the truth._”

Claire swirls her glass of wine and drains it, glad she’s not completely drunk or all of this could get messy. “I don’t give a shit about _Mark_,” she says softly into the phone. “Everything’s been going down the toilet for months, he hasn’t… touched me in weeks…” She can’t remember the last time Brad touched her either, but at least she knew why. Nobody could make her shake like he did, even if he has asshole tendencies too. She’s just as much of a chaotic mess as him. “I miss you.”

“_Claire, don’t-_”

“It’s true,” she whines, “I just… wanna forget about feeling like the ugliest pile of crap in the world.”

He laughs a little, as if the idea’s ridiculous. “_And you need me to, what, Saffitz? Be your late night post-breakup booty call?”_ he replies softly. “_Come off it, babe. It’s not fair to either of us._”

“No, it’s not fair,” Claire says, a little sad. He’s going to turn her down too, she knows it. Everything just _hurts_ to know it. “Nothing bout anything’s fair, I just want to be with you. One more night.” It’s like trying to keep yourself together with string. “You loved me once, I know you did, even if it was for like five minutes. You can say no, it’s not a hostage situation. Don’t you miss me?”

She waits for what feels like an eternity for an answer, can hear the wheels turning in his head. The tears start stinging at her eyes, thinking what an idiot she’s been when he groans in defeat.

“_Do me a solid, Claire, turn on FaceTime, I wanna see how drunk you are before I commit to coming over and rocking your world._”

Oh fuck. She looks like utter shit, she knows it. Her hair’s tangled and messy, face puffy and streaked with tears. “I might scare the crap outta you,” she says, figuring he’s still gonna say no and just wants to say it to her face, to give her an excuse that won’t hurt because he cares. Asshole. “Give me a sec…”

The glass clinks on the coffee table as she sets it down, running her fingers over her hair to try and work down her waves but he’s already FaceTiming her and she’s hitting accept before it disappears.

“_Y’kay there, Claire? I see you; you see me?”_

He’s a little blurry and in dim light but she can see him, and just looking at those calm blue eyes makes her wish they’d been able to fix their shit and not take the early exit. “Yeah, I see you. And I’m not drunk… just… pissed.”

“_Oh yeah, yeah, definitely heading more in the pissed-off direction than the heartbroken and crying direction,” _he replies sarcastically. “_Jesus, Claire, did you even like McDouchnozzle the third?_”

“No,” she protests, glancing down for a minute before looking back at the screen. “I don’t know. I did, at the start. He’d run hot and cold and I never really got why. Why date a girl you don’t want?”

“_So, we’re on the pity party train, huh? Super fucking sexy, I gotta say, really doing it for me,_” he mutters, but is grinning that shit-eating grin. “_How many glasses of wine you had, Claire?_”

“Two, two and half! With dinner,” she laughs a little, because he knows her too well for her to lie. Claire imagines that feel of his rough hands grabbing at her hips, thumbs stroking her skin because he’s afraid to handle her too hard in case she breaks. It’s been like a year since they last fell into post-breakup fucking mode. “I’m not gonna beg you for sex, Brad.”

“_I dunno, maybe I do want you to beg me,_” there’s an unmistakable smirk on his scruffy face, mischievous, kinda nasty and she’s really getting into how clandestine and wrong this is. “_Tell me you miss me again._”

This is getting dangerous with how dark his eyes are getting. He’s the constant in her life; despite their screwed up relationship, he always tells her how to live her life and gloats when he’s proven right. Which is always. Brad’s always fucking right.

He can prove it to her again. Her cheeks are flushing pink and warm just thinking about it.

“I miss you, Brad. I haven’t…” her teeth run over her lip, memories of their last last-time and just how _good _he is. “Mark couldn’t make me come like you can. You have no idea how frustrating it is, knowing there’s someone out there who can give you the best sex you ever had, and you’re stuck with a dud. I need you. I wanna come again.”

“_Jesus,_” Brad replies, his voice rougher. She loves how wrecked he sounds already; it’s a power at her fingertips she sorely needs to feel. “_This is gonna kill or cure, you know. I’m ready to throw everything for a fucking loop just to taste you again. God, how you fucking do this, I don’t, I don’t know. Claire… it’s insane._”

But Claire likes doing things the right way. Claire can breakdown and solve almost anything into a neat pile of steps to take to achieve a goal and getting Brad Leone to come over and fuck her isn’t any different. She knows what he likes just as much as he does her.

“Your call, Brad,” she says, standing up off the couch, her arm aloft and holding the phone up so he could see her as she steps towards her bedroom. “If you don’t want to come over, don’t come over. It’s not an ultimatum, there’s no threat or anything, we’ll still be friends. I’ll always want you in my life.”

“_Is there a ‘but’ hidden somewhere in there I don’t know about?_”

Claire turns the phone towards the door as she clicks the light on in her room; on the back of the door is her full-length mirror and she can see both herself and Brad looking at her there. His eyes are already raking up and down her body like he’s starving. “You remember the fun we had with this thing, right?”

“_You’re a cruel, cruel woman, Saffitz. Drive a hard bargain,_” she’s happy he sounds a little breathless, given that she’s wearing cotton shorts and a vest with no bra, and the way he groans makes her ache. “_You still have-”_

“Yup,” she can see the blush creeping up her own neck and can remember the exact spots he used to suck on to mark her as his. She wonders if he’ll do it tonight, too, like claiming her back from her asshole ex-boyfriend. Wine’s making her bold but her need for him makes her bolder. “Twenty minutes, then I’m starting without you.”

“_Fuck m-_”

Claire cuts him off as she ends the call. There’s so much water under their bridge already, so many speed bumps that had wrecked them and all they have left is this weird co-dependent thing. It’s addictive.

Brad never cares that her stomach’s soft and round, her hips a little wide and skin a little too pale. His thick voice is constant in her ear, telling her she’s the most beautiful thing in the world, how lucky he is to hold her. Both have seen each other at their worst and best throughout the years, through break ups, work, arguments and stress, family life. Being with Brad, loving him without letting herself love him, is the hardest and best thing she’s ever done. It’s not fair, but it’s all they got.

Claire paces around her apartment, watching the clock and clearing away clutter, because it’s better than the pain of being rejected again. At minute 10, she rinses her mouth out with mouthwash and combs her fingers through her hair, listening for the door. At minute 15, doubt creeps into her mind and she considers packing her bags and restarting her life in a whole other country, to put as much space between them as possible.

At minute 18, there’s a knock at her apartment door.

The relief that floods her when she opens it and he’s there – a little winded, breathing hard, with two different shoes on his feet – is sweeter than anything.

“Subway ran late,” he pants, looking down at her as he lingers in the door, his arm up and leaning on the frame. The scruff on his face cuts his jawline perfectly – he’s more handsome than she remembers. “Can’t even fucking run on time when there’s nobody on it. Assholes, Claire, fucking assholes, and there’s me, thinking about you the whole damn time. Tonight’s a confusing night is what I’m sayin’. I’m getting old. You gonna let me in?”

Claire’s face cracks into a giant grin and she pulls him inside. Brad doesn’t hesitate and cups her head between both hands, kicking the door closed behind him as he kisses her deeply, her fingers curling around his jacket.

“Hi,” she says breathily, even as she can’t stop kissing him. He’s warm and passionate and perfect. The jacket needs to go.

“Hey,” Brad replies on a grin, the thing falling to the floor with a soft metallic thud that neither of them care about. “You really better not be drunk, Claire, I ain’t about taking advantage, not ever, you know me.”

“I’m not drunk! Oh my God,” she groans in frustration. “Just want you, you idiot.”

“Good,” he grunts and grabs her with rough hands, his tongue swipes along hers. She moans and he’s hauling her body towards his, so he’s pressed against her tightly. “Thank fuck you dumped that dick. I’m the luckiest asshole in the world.”

“You talk way too much,” she complains, pulling at his shirt. Her hips are gonna be bruised in the morning. Tonight’s not the gentle Brad, obviously.

“I know.”

The fridge shakes when he crushes her up against the side it, and she hears things falling off the top and doesn’t care when he hauls her up to meet his level, her lips sore and swollen from the kissing. Claire’s always been amazed at how much strength he has in those arms of his, since before the hunting bow, before the arm wrestling. Thick, pale thighs wrap around his waist and Brad sinks his face into the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking dirtily at her tender, soft flesh, making her whine when he heads immediately for his favourite spot.

“Brad…” Claire moans, and gets her fingernails under his shirt, dragging down his back. “Playing dirty on me?”

There’s a grin at her collar until he gets his arms behind her back, carrying her easily to the kitchen countertop. Brad swipes the clutter as far away as he can, but any protest dies when they’re suddenly at the same height and there’s a grin on her lips that matches his. Her hands desperately work off his shirt from his back and toss it to the floor. It’s all a mad rush of need, want, and crave.

Air thick and heady around them, Brad pulls back and stills, his hands on either side of her head, thumbs swiping at her cheekbones. She’s never known him to be still or quiet during sex, but he looks at her now as if there’s a million things he wants to say that can’t be said. Claire looks into his eyes and lets her hands rest on his forearms, picking him apart because Brad Leone is a puzzle she wants – needs to – solve.

Her small fingers dig into his hair as he breaks and dips his head again, kissing her passionately, and suddenly she doesn’t care while he lavishes all the attention at her neck. The tank top she’s wearing is pushed up for him to get at the underside of her breasts, and the feeling of his beard scratching along the swell of her skin is nothing less than everything that’s been missing from her life.

“Jesus, you’re fucking perfect,” he groans, and he’s staring at her like she’s barely real and flesh in front of him. Claire’s missed it, missed the coiled spring growing tighter between them, passion like electric passing through a storm cloud. “Am I crazy here? You feeling it too, right? Nothing’s changing on my end, babe.”

Before she can answer him, he’s back to sucking hickeys into her neck like they’re teenagers hoping not to get caught. “Brad,” Claire whines again when he actually bites down and gropes her, rough and demanding, and intense because he’s always been intense in everything, bouncing around from spot to spot in an effort to cover every bit of ground. She’s sure that untouched skin haunts him. “Fuck, you know I love you, but if you don’t touch me, I’m gonna scream.”

A shit-eating, smug-as-all-fuck Brad grin snaps across his face. Thing is, it’s true. She loves him, more than she could ever love Mark or Nathan, or any other boyfriend, because he’s her constant. It’s not fair on either of them that they can’t seem to get their shit together and just be happy. Life doesn’t work that way - there’s not happily ever after, but instead one day and the next and the next and it goes through highs and lows, pain and pleasure, success and failure. Claire knows better than anyone the extent of Brad’s optimism balancing her nihilistic tendencies, but there’s no happy ending. It’s not even an ending, and she doesn’t want there to ever be one. It’s love because she _wants_ the highs, wants the lows, and the in-betweens, with him.

“Love you too,” is all he says. It means everything.

Delicate flesh blooms pink as he sucks her nipple into his mouth and it’s like he knows her body better than anyone, because he does. Brad tugs her ass forwards towards the counter, and he’s everywhere at once, kissing and biting until her chest and neck are a litany made of nothing but his teeth and tongue, never staying in the same place more than a second before there’s another bit of her he wants to taste. Claire can do nothing except whine his name and buck when he’s got a hold on her waist so tightly, she can’t move to get him where she wants most.

He knows it, too.

“Please…” she says, her back flat against the kitchen worksurface.

A hand sweeps up her thigh and presses determinedly against her crotch, the fabric of her shorts rubbing against her swollen, soaked cunt. Claire gasps and Brad’s suddenly shoving the hand down her shorts and getting her off, as hard and fast as he can because he’s so much all at once, energy and passion tearing through her needy body as if it’s been in constant craving of him from the moment they met. He’s kissing her breath of his name from her, a smirk on his face and glint in his eyes as she clenches against his thick fingers inside her again and again. Her head’s dizzy from coming too quick, too hard, and all at once. It doesn’t matter.

“One down, not bad for five minutes. You really did need me, didn’t you, Claire, Jesus, soaking my hand like that,” Brad mutters into her ear as she comes down, his fingers gentle and soft but she can see tension coiled in his shoulders; he’s keeping something back.

“Shut up,” she groans, panting. Her skin has a sheen of sweat, bite marks, hickeys, the pink rush of blood and her shirt’s crumpled up in her armpits, but she feels fucking untouchable. Her head tips back and she looks at the ceiling, trying to get her head together. “Bed. Now.”

Within moments, she’s in his arms getting carried to her bedroom like a bride over the threshold, his arms lifting her weight like she’s made of air. When Brad literally drops her on the bed, she giggles and pulls off the rest of her clothes. They’re skin to skin, finally, legs entwining as he kisses her into the pillows.

“We’re gonna work, Claire,” he says raggedly, her hand wrapped around him as they lay on their sides together. His eyes are impossibly blue and searching, beautiful, clear. “Not gonna screw it up, not this time.”

Claire hopes he’s right. She just kisses him, and he slides into her body, stilling for a moment as their eyes meet. Her leg hitches higher on his thigh and it almost burns, and she’s ready for him to ruin her life from the way he’s holding back on giving her all of him finally, after all these years dancing around being in love. Those arms around her petite frame hold her tight as his hips finally snap sharply up.

“Oh God,” she groans and laughs, and he kisses her doubts to form vapour and drift away. “Please…”

He thrusts into her hard and deep, and Claire wants it to never end, she needs him to keep his promise and love her forever. Her lips land at his neck as he fucks her, her fingers gripping his hair harder than she should, her teeth sinking into his skin for her to claim back like he had done to her in the kitchen and it’s all so good, so easy and stupidly simple.

Claire cries out into his neck as he hooks her trembling thigh up and quickens as her breath hitches because he knows she’s close to shattering. They’ve ridden down the road a lot together and he knows her weak spots by heart, teases and plays and keeps her on the edge. She knows his too and digs her nails down his back, tightens around him inside her, laughing as he swears filthily at her like real sailor.

“Fuck, fuck, don’t, you’re gonna make it a quick ending, babe,” Brad grunts and fucks her harder, as if it’s a punishment when it’s so damn good. “Shit. You want it, don’t ya?”

Her doe eyes widen impossibly as he grazes her clit and she can only nod, throwing her head back as he keeps thrusting while she’s coming, her back arching in his arms. White-hot pleasure courses through her veins and her heart jumps into her throat. She can feel his hips stutter as he comes inside her a few moments later, her body sticky and sore and messy, her hair stuck to her neck.

A heart beats loudly in her ear but if it’s his or hers, she can’t tell – they’re a mess of limbs and sweat and lingering desire. There’s a million words on her lips, and Brad’s still inside her, but neither dare to move or say anything because the spell could break.

His lips graze her forehead and she knows that it’ll work this time. Brad Leone is always right and she’s willing to roll the dice on that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a major crush on Claire Saffitz. In case you can't tell.


End file.
